


Light it Up

by Coragyps



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexuality, Crude language because Shaw was possibly raised by wolves, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, First Time, Root is slippery that way, Shaw tops, Strap-Ons, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coragyps/pseuds/Coragyps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two interludes in the darkness, before and after Shaw is taken.</p><p>Or: Shaw’s ongoing fascination with Root’s ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the innocent days before 4x11 gave us all PTSD.
> 
>  
> 
> _Please Note: Shaw’s thoughts on the subject of Finch/Reese are a little crude, but that's just how her voice sounds in my mind. No offense intended!_

 

The power in the subway station went out at about 4 AM.

Shaw cursed.

In the dark, she reached for the gun she kept under the mattress; if this was Samaritan’s opening salvo, she wanted to come out shooting.

She tried to pretend she wasn't thrilled about it.

“Is this city-wide, Finch?” she asked, sliding her ear-piece into her ear.

“No.” She could hear keystrokes in the background as Finch searched for information. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he was awake and alert at this hour, wherever he was. “It appears to be the result of a blown transformer, affecting only a few segments of the subway. It does not seem to be the result of our enemies; merely an unfortunate accident during an ongoing construction project.”

Shaw was disappointed, but she didn’t let go of her gun yet. A nearly omniscient artificial intelligence was capable of making anything look like an accident.

“Are repairs under way?”

“Hmm, it appears not. The workers will return in the morning to resume their efforts. After all, only vacated sections of the tunnel were known to be affected.”

Shaw scowled. The subway held heat like a sieve held water - that is, not at all. Within an hour it’d be bitterly cold.

“I don’t suppose we can speed that up any,” she predicted glumly.

“I think not. Samaritan would certainly notice if an old, seemingly unused portion of the electrical grid mysteriously repaired itself.”

Shaw bet it was also going to notice when she _showed up at the hospital with hypothermia_.

“It is critical that you don’t leave the subway,” Finch warned, seemingly reading her mind. “Will you be able to remain where you are until morning?”

Shaw figured she could hold out with the best of them, when it came down to it. It was just fortunate that she was so resourceful. “Bear, _hier_ ,” she called, snapping her fingers. Bear galloped over with a joyful _whuff,_ thrilled to be summoned up on her bed where he usually wasn’t allowed.

“ _Afliggen_ ,” she ordered, and tried to be patient while he settled down. Then she arranged herself next to him. Dogs generated a lot of heat, and she’d slept under worse conditions.

“Don’t worry,” she said into her phone. “I’ve got a dog-fur coat to keep me warm.”

Bear’s big head was on her pillow, she noted. She sighed. Well, at least she could be the Big Spoon without a fight.

She heard Reese chuckle, having clearly joined the line in time to hear her last comment. “Aw, you sleeping with the mutts now, Shaw?” he teased.

“This is nothing. I once slept twelve hours with a corpse,” said Shaw blandly. And in Guangxi province she’d bedded down in a pile of dung (manure makes a lot of heat) but that, she didn’t feel like sharing.

“Perhaps it’s best that we not discuss past bedfellows, Miss Shaw,” Finch suggested doubtfully.

Shaw rolled her eyes in the darkness. She just bet both of them were warm and snug in their alternate identities’ apartments (or possibly the same apartment – she’d never been sure about the two of them). Already her breath was visible in the light from her phone, and it would only get worse.

“All your computers were running when it hit, Finch,” she reported cruelly. “I sure hope they’ll be alright when the power comes back on.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I have surge protectors in place for just this situation,” he replied. “They’ll be fine. What is important now is that you preserve the batteries in your phone, Miss Shaw. Turn it off for now, and we’ll check in with an update at 6AM. Please try to stay warm.”

The line disconnected crisply. Shaw blew a raspberry.

She thought about the two of them sometimes, Finch and Reese. She bet the dumb lug took it so pretty; probably couldn't wait to get on his knees every night and suck Finch’s gimpy cock.

Sometimes – yeah, she could admit it – she pictured it; Reece spread out on his belly, maybe with his wrists crossed behind his back, all his power leashed for the ugly little man with the giant brain. The intensity in Finch’s eyes, instead of that irritating mild-mannered façade. The soft little noises Reese would make while being fucked.

Yeah, maybe sometimes she slid her hand down her own pants and thought about it.

It was getting colder in the subway every second, although it must be worse above ground. She surveyed her surroundings, indifferent to the profound blackness around her. She wasn’t afraid of much, and being trapped in the frigid dark for an unknown amount of time didn’t rank (that thing with the corpse - she'd been buried with it at the time). She was going to be even more bored than usual, that was all.

There were flashlights by the main entrance, and one of the long guns under her bed had a torch attachment, but there was no sense wasting the battery if she was going to be trapped for hours. If nobody was going to try to kill her, she might as well go back to sleep.

She buried her face in Bear’s shaggy ruff and closed her eyes. Unwillingly soothed by his deep doggy breathing, she let herself relax.

 

She awoke next because Bear was nudging her. Putting a hand on his back in the darkness, she could feel the way the hair bristled along his spine; he seemed to be intensely focused on the door. He whined, low in his throat.

Shaw reached again for her gun.

“Well, I must say it’s nice to see your taste in men is improving, Sameen,” said a familiar voice, sweetly.

Shaw groaned. She was too cold and bitter to deal with Root’s particular blend of glee and fanaticism today.

Bear, the traitor, jumped off the bed and trotted over to receive a petting.

“What do you want?” asked Shaw, pulling the blankets back up around her. The air was stinging cold by now. She should probably have made the trek earlier to the trunk that contained her warmer clothes.

Root ignored the question, as usual. “I come bearing gifts!” she announced brightly.

Something sparked, and then she held up an old-fashioned propane lantern, the flame sputtering before it caught and held. Shaw, who was not usually prone to whimsy, was suddenly reminded of a college class on renaissance art, the _chiaroscuro_ paintings, light emanating from the halos of saints and painting the faces of the surrounding figures in gold.

Not that there were any saints around now.

“I figured you must be bored, huddled here in the dark waiting for the lights to come back on,” Root said.

“I dunno,” said Shaw coolly. “I was thinking later maybe I’d masturbate.”

Of the emotions Shaw could feel, shame wasn’t particularly one of them.

Root’s expression, lovingly detailed in the lantern light, froze, then smoothed out as if nothing had happened. “Well, it’s good to have hobbies,” she said, sending Bear careering down the hallway with a wave of her hands and a muttered _Vooruit._ “By all means, don’t let me interrupt.”

She strolled closer, swinging the light.

Shaw rolled her eyes. She was familiar with this particular game of Lesbian Chicken, and she was pretty sure Root was more interested in screwing with her than screwing her. It was a damn shame, because she had some frustrations she’d love to work out, and the hacker had to be a great roll in the hay (the crazy ones always were).

“I’ve got enough propane to last twelve hours,” said Root, chipper.

Shaw sighed, trying to keep her teeth from audibly chattering. “Great.”

“You know, some candles, maybe a fireplace, this could be pretty cozy.”

The fire part sounded good, anyway. She wished Root hadn’t shooed the dog away.

She thought she’d been successful in keeping the cold from showing on her face, but apparently not; Root was suddenly frowning and crowding into her personal space, touching the back of her hand to Shaw’s cheek. “Sameen, you’re freezing!” she exclaimed. “Here, bundle up. Where are your clothes? You’re dressed in next to nothing.”

She fussed with the bedclothes, trying to wrap them around Shaw’s shoulders. It was a strangely motherly gesture, from a woman who regularly killed people in cold blood.

“I thought you usually wanted to get me _un-_ dressed,” said Shaw wryly, tolerating the attention. “I must be losing my touch.”

“Shush. You’re sitting here half-naked in sub-zero temperatures; I’m afraid your lips are going to turn blue. There. Is that better?” Root rubbed her blanket-covered shoulders.

It was better, actually. Shaw let her fuss, curious to see how far Root would take this game. It wasn’t _that_ cold, but clearly the hacker was enjoying playing nursemaid for some reason.

“Oh, your hands are like ice,” Root murmured, chafing Shaw’s fingers between her own - casually, like there was nothing to her little touches. But Shaw knew better. Every move was calculated.

Root leaned forward to breathe on their joined hands, her warm exhale tingling on Shaw’s skin. “That’s better, isn’t it,” she said.

“I’m fine,” said Shaw, indifferently. But she didn’t push Root away. For the hundredth time, she wondered why she put up with things from Root that she’d never tolerate from Reese or Finch; the hacker just seemed to slip in under the radar, somehow … just like she did with Samaritan. “Did you really come all the way down here just to drop off a lantern?”

“Well, and to keep you company.” Root set the lamp on the table at the end of Shaw’s bed, creating a little island of light for just the two of them. “All appears to be quiet at the moment and She’s not sending any directions, so it seems that I have the night off. What _shall_ we do to pass the time?” Root waggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

Shaw braced herself for the next round of banter, the next back and forth – but instead she glanced up just in time to see Root leaning in, her eyes on Shaw’s lips, her own parted slightly. Shaw had one second to think _are we really gonna –_ and then their mouths were brushing together, just a gentle little _how-do-you-do_.

Without exactly planning to, Shaw found herself leaning forward, turning her face _just so_ as Root came back for another pass, locking them together. Root made a soft sound of pleasure, raising a hand to cup Shaw’s cheek, the other hand sliding through her hair.

But then fingers brushed against Shaw’s neck, and Shaw jerked back, startled.

 _Trick,_ she told herself, _it was all just a trick, stop her, don’t let her_ –

“Sameen.” Root’s hands were empty when she held them up, palms forward, displaying her innocence. Her eyes were knowing and sad.

Shaw grunted her frustration.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Root, reaching to stroke Shaw’s hair out of her face with more tenderness than Shaw was strictly comfortable with. “I know I hurt you. But I had to.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It didn’t hurt that bad. I’ve had worse.” Hell, a needle in the neck was nothing, compared to half the shit that had embedded itself in her flesh: bullets, knife points, shrapnel – worse things.

“I know you have,” said Root, still combing back her hair. “But I took advantage of your trust.”

“It was my fault,” said Shaw blankly. “I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

Root’s face crumpled.

“I just meant, I shouldn’t trust anyone,” she tried to explain, but Root just stretched up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Shaw’s mouth, which Shaw allowed stoically.

She knew they were different, her and Root. Root _felt_ things, even if she tried to rise above it. Root had her moods, she could be joyful, she could be sad, she could be frightened. Shaw didn’t feel most of those emotions. Sometimes she could be amused, or angry, or exhilarated – but not too deeply. And never the complex stuff, like love or fear or guilt; those she didn’t feel at all.

Shaw didn’t want to be a force for evil, but she could be honest about that capacity within herself. She really didn’t mind killing – or maiming, or torturing, whatever – if that was the order of the day. It clearly bothered her less than most people. But for some reason, whatever it was, she wanted to do _good_ instead.

She liked to think it was her one redeeming quality.

She’d started with medical school, where there was a clear code of ethics; she never violated them, and she was still using her skills to help people. But they threw her out anyway, which was total bullshit. Did it really matter if a surgeon had love in their heart when they were cutting out a tumor? She still thought that decision was balls.

Next was the Marines, where she sometimes cured and sometimes killed but always for the right side. Except it turned out they were less interested in the former when they found out about the latter. _Anyone can learn field medicine_ , one of her instructors said, watching Shaw like a treasure. _But you’ve got real skills_.

In killing, he meant.

So from the Marines she went into murkier waters at ISA. But if she was offering up her less lovable strengths, at least she was offering them up _for good_ (at least, she’d thought she was, at the time). And all she got for her efforts was a half-rate attempt to assassinate her.

But now, with this ragtag team, Shaw felt like she was on firm footing again. Medical school misjudged her, and the government took advantage of her, but these days she was 100% sure that when someone said _shoot_ , it was to make the world a better place. Not because she trusted the Machine – whatever Root believed, Shaw believed Finch when he said the Machine had no soul (and yeah, maybe neither did Shaw, but that still didn’t exactly give Root the moral high ground).

No, even though she hated to admit it, Shaw trusted Reese, and Finch. Mostly Finch. That little nerd was rock solid.

“Sameen?” Root leaned back in, trying to make eye contact. “Hey … so, I was kind of enjoying what we were just doing. What do you think about maybe picking up where we left off?”

“Is the Machine listening?” asked Shaw. She knew Root had the earpiece in – she always did.

“She’s connected, anyway,” said Root. “Would you like – would you like me to turn it off?”

Shaw knew this was a significant offer. More than once she’d wondered what Root would do if the Machine told her to kill them all; would she open fire in the subway, a hail of bullets raining down like hellfire?

Yeah, there were reasons why Shaw wouldn't be giving it up for Root the way Reese did for Finch.

“It’s okay,” Shaw decided. “It can listen in if it wants to. Maybe it’ll learn a thing or two. But – ” She put her mouth up to Root’s delicate ear and spoke low, enjoying the other woman’s shiver. _“Hey, I’m planning on keeping your girl kind of busy here … if you need something in the next hour, go to Finch, okay?”_

Shaw didn’t hear any response, but Root bit her lip and nodded like she’d received confirmation.

It was possible Shaw was fucking a crazy person.

Ah, well - wouldn’t be the first time. “Loose the shirt,” she directed, pulling her own grey tank top over her head. Since she was dressed for bed, that meant no bra; Root got the whole view. Jeez, it was cold.

She was conscious of her scarred-up body, square and heavy with muscle, but she wasn’t ashamed of it. Lots of people had found her good enough to fuck, and in the half light of the lantern Root could probably only see the half of it anyway.

Root followed suit, rather more slowly. She had the palest skin that Shaw had ever seen. It seemed like there was miles of it, smooth and white except for a few faint scars. She folded her blouse and then shrugged out of the delicate bra she was wearing underneath. Small, high breasts like dollops of cream. Shaw couldn’t wait to get her mouth on them.

Holding Shaw’s eyes, she tossed her bra out into the darkness.

Shaw smiled. “Now the pants.”

When Shaw picked a man to scratch an itch, she usually went with the beefiest, burliest, manliest sonofabitch she could seduce with a come-hither smile. She liked the big lunks, dumb as rocks but strong enough to fuck her up against a wall when she wanted them to.

Watching Root undress, it occurred to her that Root was kind of scrawny – little toothpick arms, thighs that went straight up from her knees. Shaw found it kind of endearing. It was like trying to fuck Bambi.

She was wearing lacy panties. In the lantern light Shaw couldn’t tell what color they were – she was guessing pale purple, maybe blue. She wondered if Root had picked these out with her in mind. She wasn’t one for frills, but she did kind of enjoy the thought of the other woman dressing up for her, selecting something for Shaw’s eyes. Yeah, she kind of liked that thought.

Shaw was wearing her usual black cotton under her track shorts.

“Flip the pillow,” Shaw directed, conscious that she was probably spoiling the mood. “Bear drooled on it.”

Root did as instructed, still smiling.

“Gotta admit, I thought you were just a tease,” Shaw murmured, hoisting Root flat on the bed by her hips. “Didn’t think you’d actually let me do this to you, Princess.”

“I – wasn’t sure that you’d really want to,” said Root honestly, spreading her legs at the direction of Shaw’s hands, so Shaw could fit between them.

Shaw lined them up, hips to hips, breast to breast, herself on top. The height difference was mostly leg, it turned out; their mouths brushed together this way. Convenient. “You ever have sex with a woman before?”

She slid her hand down between Root’s legs, just resting there, warming her up, the way she did for herself when she was getting off in bed.

Root’s breathing was unsteady. “No-oo,” she admitted. “But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

Shaw was surprised to find that kind of hot. Man, her wires really were all crossed when it came to this particular nutbag. “Don’t look so nervous,” she muttered. “I’m not going to do anything to you that you’re not going to like.”

Shaw was used to fast fucks, hate fucks, and pity fucks, but she kind of wanted to slow down and do it nice for Root. It didn’t seem like she’d had a lot of tenderness in her life, and although it was like asking for affection from a bird of prey, Shaw sort of wanted to try.

She didn’t usually like kissing that much – it was wet, and sticky, and didn’t feel as good as a mouth other places - but she bet Root loved it, so she didn’t try to pull away when Root stretched up. This time she let her nudge their mouths open. She slid her own tongue inside.

She’d figured it would be rough between them, if they ever got down to it, and maybe it would, next time.

For now, she just – liked this, she thought, kind of helplessly. She liked Root’s shiny, soft brown hair that smelled like coconut, and her pale skin dotted with goose bumps. It was like being given a pretty thing, something Shaw didn’t deserve and had never wanted, like – an antique watch, maybe, or like, a teeny baby kitten.

She pulled their lips apart and shifted to move slowly down Root’s body – kissing and biting at the plump little handfuls of her breasts, listening to Root moan, pushing up eagerly into her mouth. Slow through the valley between them, then down her sternum, fitting her fingers into the ridges of her ribs. Over her concave stomach (seriously – the girl needed to eat) and into the welcoming cradle of her hips.

She wondered, if sex had been more of a priority for her, if she would have decided she liked women better. She wasn’t sure. It was hard to think of a world in which she had time to care that much about some momentary pleasure; it wasn’t like Shaw was going to find a life partner, pick out curtains, and get married. Shaw was going to bleed out in a gutter someday, if she was that lucky.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Root, frowning, tugging on Shaw’s hair. “Stop it and think about me. I’m here with you.”

“Yeah you are,” said Shaw, kissing Root’s belly, swiping her tongue into Root’s naval. Root giggled and Shaw found that she liked the vibrations.

She tugged the panties off and threw them over her shoulder, then pulled Root’s knees up and apart, studying her in the light of the lantern. “Man, I should have figured you’d have a cute little twat.” Slender, delicate folds, meticulously groomed hair; Shaw just wanted to mess her up, make her squirt. Make her come screaming.

“Sam- _een_ ,” Root whined, squirming.

Shaw slung Root’s knees over her shoulders, curling her up so she could get her mouth in there. Root let herself be folded up without a murmur. Next time she was being her usual bossy self, Shaw was going to think of her this way; skinny legs in the air, smearing her juices over Shaw’s cheeks.

She hummed, letting her breath warm everything up, then slid her tongue up the tender space, opening up for her. So much easier that sucking cock, thought Shaw, with genuine pleasure. Root’s snatch was just the perfect shape to fit a face in.

She decided to go slow; there was no hurry, nowhere to go. First she just needed to get everything nice and wet, like pistons in a cylinder, smooth and loose and slick. She enjoyed Root’s muted sighs, the tightening of the thighs around her head.

“That feel good?” Shaw murmured, kissing the swollen head carefully. Root ground down in response. She was biting on her knuckle now, moaning around it. Shaw wondered if the Machine was listening, taking notes.

She teased for a while, sucking gently on Root’s clit, easing her slippery fingers between her lips. When she thought Root was ready, she slid one finger into Root’s tight little cunt, doing what a cock couldn’t; crooking her finger to rub over the internal walls, feeling her internal muscles working together. Root was silky-smooth inside, scorching hot compared to the cold air. Shaw kept rubbing her clit with the pad of one finger and slid a second one up. Root was so _wet,_ she took it so easily, so nicely. Shaw kissed her thigh in reward.

“Okay?”

Root nodded when she looked up; she had one hand up over her head, and the other one over her eyes. It was a good look for her.

Shaw got to work in earnest, alternating licks and sucks with a few quick nips, keeping her fingers moving, sometimes fucking in and out, pausing sometimes to working the slippery clay down over her crack. Root’s response when Shaw rubbed her asshole was a little gasp of surprise, but Shaw interpreted the lift of her hips as a positive sign. She did it again, more deliberately.

Root squeaked. “Sam-Sameen!”

“Yeah? You like that?” Shaw was delighted; the prissy hacker liked a bit of backdoor action. She couldn’t help tracing her fingers over the puckered hole again, watching Root push back unconsciously.

“I’d like to fuck your ass with a strap-on some time,” said Shaw, enjoying the crudity. “How would you like that, hmm?”

Delicate ankles tightened around her, little heels drumming against her back. Yeah, she’d like that.

“Don’t worry,” Shaw whispered, “I’d open you up real nice for it first.”

Root rocked down against the pad of Shaw’s slippery finger, so Shaw gave it to her, nice and slow while she sucked on her clit, and Root moaned and came, just as easy as that. She was squirming on Shaw’s finger, sunk deep inside her, right at the – heh – _root_ of her, all her muscles clamping down.

“Oh God,” Root moaned, and Shaw wondered if she meant the Machine.

Shaw held Root’s legs open, spread wide, so she couldn’t hide, and soothed her through the aftershocks, licking into her trembling, wet cunt. Root still had one arm flung over her head, endearingly helpless. Shaw kind of wanted to tie her wrists to the headboard.

“That was …” Root trailed off. Her eyes closed, she stretched luxuriously, her naked breasts offered up to Shaw’s greedy hands. She wiped her fingers on the bedsheets, which were done for anyway, and reached for them.

“You always like something up your asshole when you come?” asked Shaw, smirking.

“Mm, if it’s your finger, anyway,” said Root sleepily.

Root tugged her head down, and Shaw went, not sure why she was doing it. Root kissed her before Shaw could scrub her mouth, and she was embarrassed at the taste; Root was too good to lick her own slick from Shaw’s dirty mouth. But Root didn’t act like it offended her. Her kisses were sloppy now, and wet, but Shaw let her maul their mouths together until Root drooped back against the bed, her eyes heavy-lidded.

Shaw’s arousal was a low, hazy burn, easily forgettable, like most of her emotions. She decided she didn’t mind if Root wanted to nap. Shaw could keep watch – she was good at that. She just liked the sight of Root naked and spread over the bed like a broken doll.

Sex with the lunks was a straight line, fast and brutal, and if you missed your chance, you’d missed it – Shaw was used to forcing their heads down between her legs, or working herself with her fingers if she wanted her pleasure.

But with a woman they could do it another way, slowly, over the course of a long time, with lazy peaks and rolls, no particular beginning or end. Like riding a boat in the ocean.

With Root breathing softly, Shaw took her gun out of the mattress and set it next to her. She checked that Bear was safe in his bed at the far end of the tunnel. Then she covered Root up, shimmied out of her own soaked underwear and pulled her tank top back on, and laid down herself.

If she had her way, she’d always keep Root here, underneath her, in the safe, warm cradle of the lantern.

She inched just close enough to whisper into Root’s ear again: _“So, how’d you like that? See, I can take care of her. You better take good care of her too.”_

She wondered if the Machine could turn all their reactions into neat little ones and zeros. Did Finch know how to code a machine that could make a woman come? She wouldn’t put it past him.

She didn’t sleep, but let her mind wander, the way it did sometimes on a stake-out or the long, silent wait in a sniper perch. ‘Powering down,’ Cole had called it, because he teased her sometimes about being a robot. It was true; hours could pass unnoticed, but she’d be instantly alert when necessary, like a machine.

It was some time later – hours? Only a few minutes? – when Root stirred. “Mmm.” She stretched, rolling over and looking up at Shaw. “You shouldn’t have let me fall sleep.”

Shaw shrugged. Although she didn’t say it, she figured Root had probably needed the rest more than another orgasm.

Root sat up and pushed off the sheet, unashamedly naked. “Well, I appreciate it, but think it’s your turn now … what do you say, Sameen?”

“You know you’re the only person who ever calls me that,” muttered Shaw. “Even my mother never called me that.” (Shaw’s mother had preferred a variety of endearments - _jooné del-am, aziz-am._ But rarely her full name.)

“I call you lots of things nobody else ever calls you,” said Root. It was true. Most people didn’t seem to think of Shaw as a ‘sweetie,’ either. The lunks tried _baby, baby_ some times but it never felt particularly personal; most likely they just couldn’t remember her name. Not that she had given them her actual name.

“Come here,” said Root, pushing the sheets off of Shaw too, lifting her eyebrows at the sight of her naked lower half. “Closer,” she murmured, pulling Shaw up by her shoulders, lining their bodies up again. “C’mere. Come here, sweetheart. It’s your turn. What do you want?”

“I just – I wanted to take care of you,” said Shaw, stupid and awkward now that the passion had died down. She bit her lip – that had been a stupid thing to say.

“Mm, and you did. You did such a good job. Now I want to make you happy, too. Come here. Closer.”

Shaw went, not sure why she was going, not sure what she wanted. Root cupped her breasts through her shirt and kissed her, coaxing her back into arousal with her soft noises and her wet lips and her coconut smell.

Root arranged them how she wanted them; Shaw straddling her thigh, letting her ride it, rubbing up against her. Shaw didn’t necessarily see the appeal for Root, but she did like it like this. She rocked gently, and Root rocked back, pulling her down for a kiss.

“There you go,” said Root, when they broke apart, pulling her back down again. “Just like that.”

Shaw wasn’t sure how Root, who seemed a little fastidious, would feel about the slick smeared all over her thigh, but so far she wasn’t complaining. They moved together, unhurried.

Shaw stripped out of her tank top again, wanting to feel more skin. Root bent forward to press a kiss to her nipple, the left one that was nearly bisected by the poorly-healed scar slashing over most of her breast. That op had gone totally FUBAR. Shaw couldn’t really feel Root’s tongue there, but the sentiment was nice.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.” Root reached down and pressed her thumb to Shaw’s clit, tipping her gently over, and holding her while she rode it out, shushing her although Shaw knew she didn’t make any noise, she never did.

It didn’t feel like the kind of orgasm Shaw usually had during her encounters – like being pushed off a cliff, like being hit with a taser. This felt like the kind of orgasm she gave herself, lying in bed at night warm and sleepy and just letting herself feel good. Unlike the lunks, Root knew exactly how to keep her thumb right _there_ , not moving, dragging out the orgasm. It felt like being lighted up from the inside.

While Shaw was still blissed out and dazed, Root – the sneaky bitch – had been pressing soft kisses all over her face, her hands rubbing lazily over her back. They were curled up together, not spooning, face to face. Were they cuddling? Fuck.

But Shaw was warm now. It felt good, in the uncomplicated way that she could understand; like a full belly, a good vantage point, or a well stocked arsenal.

She didn’t flinch this time when soft fingers stroked the back of her neck.

Shaw let Root have her fill of snuggling until she couldn’t tolerate it anymore, and then rolled on top of her, pressing her flat to the mattress, out of kissing range. Root squirmed happily underneath her.

“Let’s go again!” she said, brightly.

Shaw rolled her eyes and flicked a nipple.

Maybe next time it’d be blood and screaming. She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she minded it this way.

They wouldn't have forever. The machine would want something soon – Shaw had only asked for an hour, and it had already been longer. Finch and Reese would be checking in too. Either the power would come on, or the lantern would run out of propane. Samaritan was out there, waiting patiently like a spider in the web, and Shaw was benched for the near future, until she figured out a way back into the game.

But for now it was dark in the subway, and the two of them were alone in an island of yellow light.

Shaw bent down for another kiss, wondering what this feeling was, like a candle flickering in her chest.

She wondered if this was how everyone else felt all the time, and if so, how they could possibly bear it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I heard that Shaw was coming back to Person of Interest and it inspired me to write a second chapter. 
> 
> I enjoyed going back and re-reading Part One of this story after the heartbreak that was “If-Then-Else,” so I wanted to write the follow up before I know what the plotline of the fifth season will be. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Gritting her teeth, Shaw lifted herself into another chin-up, ignoring the burning pain in her still-healing muscles. At the top of the bar, she held it for the count of _One. Two. Three_.

Jeez, her grip strength was for shit.

The fine tremors in her triceps spread to her lats and pectorals. She closed her eyes and breathed through it. _Six, Seven, Eight._ She had deliberately left the lights off, because she didn’t want to watch herself struggling in the streaky mirror.

She had diagnosed the pain as a residual effect of Samaritan’s experiments on her nervous system. Hopefully it would fade with time.

 _Nine. Ten._ Down again, aiming for slow and controlled despite the way her body was rebelling.

Shaw understood rehab: you had to push through it or risk losing range of motion in the long run. At least this latest safehouse had a gym – much better than the subway station she had inhabited last.

 _Up_ , her forearms shaking and twitching. The muscles around her ribcage started to throb.

“Sweetie, I think it’s time to take a break.”

Root snapped the lights on; Shaw averted her eyes from her reflection.

Ever since she woke up, Root had never been far away - watching her with sad, gentle eyes. Shaw really fucking hated it.

She kept going, forcing herself to dip down and up in quick succession. Her shoulders, which had been hyperextended too long and too often, were about to give out.

“ _Sameen_.” Root’s voice was flat as a knife. “That’s enough for today. Come down now.”

Shaw hauled herself up one more time, just to spite her, and then dropped heavily, taking the full weight on her blown-out knee. She shook it off with a grimace.

“Anytime you want to stop looking at me like a baby bunny that got squashed on the road,” she gritted out, “You should go with that instinct.”

“Mmm, but you’re _my_ baby bunny,” said Root, reaching out to trace her fingertip up Shaw’s sweaty arm.

Shaw ignored her, bumping her shoulder – hard – into Root’s as she passed, and enjoying the soft grunt of pain. “Imma hit the shower.”

“Good idea, sweetie. Let me know when you're ready for a rub down.” Root's usual coy smile had reasserted itself, but her eyes were still anxious.

Shaw didn't bother responding. Even though her arms felt about ready to fall off, she made herself grab her own bag of gear and hoist it over her shoulder.

They were squatting in an unfinished condo development – she suspected Harold owned it somehow – while the Machine rebuilt itself. All she cared about was that the hot water worked. She limped heavily down to the hall to the apartment she'd claimed for herself, heading straight for the bathroom.

Ever since she’d gotten back, Shaw had been ducking away from Reese's quiet compassion and Herald's overly formal attempt to welcome her back. She had no idea why they bothered - they weren't _friends_. Reese was maybe some kind of comrade-in-arms but she was pretty sure Harold just viewed her as a sub-par stand in for the Man in the Suit. Too unpredictable to be much use.

She had really only come back for the dog.

She started the shower, stripping painfully out of her sweaty clothes. Then she stepped under the spray, letting the hot water sooth the ache in her abused muscles.

Shaw didn't want to talk. Yeah, she had almost died: that was part of the job. Being tortured and interrogated? That was a Wednesday for her. She was going to kick Reece right in the nuts if he made cow eyes at her one more time.

She'd been ready to go, is what was really pissing her off. She'd made her dramatic last stand and gone down fighting, exactly she'd always hoped, and it had been in service of the best cause she could possibly find. She'd thought it was fitting, a good end. The kind of end that Cole would have been proud of - it was his dumb quest that had sent her down this rabbit hole, after all. The kind of death of her mother would have understood.

But she hadn't died. She was like a cockroach, damn near immortal no matter what was thrown at her. She'd woken up in a world of hurt but still breathing.

She reached for the shampoo, biting back a grunt of pain. She’d once held a gun level for twenty-five minutes during a standoff with a bunch of Narcos in Coahuila, and now she could barely lift a bottle of Suave.

She got through a perfunctory scrub down before the water began to run cold.

She reached for her towel; the damaged muscles in her shoulder spasmed. She tried to consciously relax but another spasm moved along her spine, doubling her over with a muttered curse.

“Here.” A pale hand appeared in line of vision, towel in hand. Shaw didn’t reach for it. Maybe she couldn’t.

“Easy, sweetie.” Root draped it around her shoulders, then slid a bracing arm around her waist. From this position the difference in their heights was more noticeable. Shaw didn’t like it.

She stepped unsteadily out of the shower.

"Let me know if you need to sit." Root produced another towel from somewhere and began drying her off with brisk efficiency. Shaw expected flirtation, but Root was silent and businesslike.

Shaw gritted her teeth and permitted it, standing wordless and dripping, huddled in her towel. It had been a long time anyone had touched her without the intention to harm. Probably since - that night in the subway when the power went out.

She watched, suspicious, as Root blotted her damp skin, the texture of the material almost abrasive on her oversensitive nerves. As if she knew, Root gentled her strokes, careful over her ribs, which had deflected the first barrage of bullets away from more critical areas, and which had healed lumpy and irregular from not being properly set.

Down over her belly, stripped now of any fat she’d ever possessed. Root patted demurely at the V between her legs, then dropped to her knees to dry her thighs, which were still marked with whiplike scars.

Now, with Root eyelevel to her crotch, she expected at least a come on – but Root was silent, reverent, stroking the terrycloth behind her knees, more gently than Shaw would have done herself.

“Almost done,” said Root, standing up. “Where are your clothes?” As she spoke she took the ends of the towel still wrapped around Shaw’s shoulders and tugged gently. Shaw expected to be pulled into her arms, and automatically tensed. But Root just buffed her shoulders dry, impossibly gentle around the bone-white starburst scar of the bullet wound through her clavicle and into her chest.

Shaw could remember them digging it out with a scalpel, brutally efficient battlefield surgery, trying to stop her from bleeding out right there on the floor of the hallway, while she gritted her teeth and tried impossibly to _die faster_.

It hadn’t worked.

“Thanks for the help,” said Shaw flatly, stepping away, careful not to reveal any hint of a limp.

“Wait, your hair.” Root opened the damp towel and advanced, but Shaw backed away, hands raised.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, making for the clothes folded on the sink.

Surprisingly, Root didn’t press, merely following behind her.

Shaw stepped clumsily into boycut shorts and an oversized hockey jersey, daring Root with her eyes to say anything – either offer to help, or critique her fashion choices. Wisely, the other woman said nothing, pretending to look away. Shaw took advantage of the opportunity to dry-swallow two oxycontin, sighing with relief at the chalky flavor at the back of her throat. Eventually she’d have to watch her consumption, but today it was warranted.

Soon she’d be relaxed enough to take a nap, which meant blessed hours with nobody asking how she was feeling or how they could help.

Root handed her a bottle of water. “Do you need anything else?”

Shaw knew she needed to keep hydrated, but she didn’t like to drink something she hadn’t poured herself. She didn't open it.

“Sameen ...”

Shaw pointed at her in the mirror. “Dead bunny look,” she warned.

She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, uncombed, too tired to run more than her fingers through it, then dragged herself into the bedroom. She dropped heavily onto the bed, sinking into the soft sheets with a sigh of content.

Until a dip in the mattress down by her feet alerted her to an unwelcome visitor. “Get out of my bed,” said Shaw flatly.

“But sweetie, you look so peaceful ... I just can’t help myself.”

“I'm in a drugged stupor,” said Shaw. “It's no excuse to get in here and molest me." She stretched out one leg and prodded Root with her bare foot. “Up,” she said. “Get out of here.”

Root flopped down on her back instead; Shaw amused herself by nudging Root’s cheek with her big toe. Was it the brush of her hair against Shaw’s ankle, or had that been the press of lips? Shaw squinted at her suspiciously, but Root blinked innocently back.

Time to bite the bullet. “Listen Root. I know you’re waiting for it to be – like it was,” said Shaw gruffly. Her mind flickered over a memory of the two of them, tucked in that sheltering darkness under the city, that strange feeling burning in her chest. “But I’m not – I’m not like that anymore. So just forget it, okay.”

Root sat up. "Sweetie," she murmured, reaching out.

Shaw ducked away. “I mean it,” she said. “I’m no good for what you want now." She waved a hand down at herself, indicating her crotch as well as all the rest of her. “It doesn’t - nothing works like it used to. Okay? All that lovey dovey stuff is gone and it's not coming back. So you can stop trying.”

She’d always been a little dead inside, but this was worse. They’d reached into her chest and found that last living part - just a little flicker of something, barely enough to warm your hands over, she’d barely even known it existed herself - and they’d snuffed it out, leaving nothing but a charred pile of ash.

“Sameen, I’m not going to ask you for anything you’re not willing to give,” said Root, her voice unsteady, trying to sound calm. She stretched out her hand again, trying to pat Shaw's leg through the blanket. Shaw moved away. She didn’t know how Root kept trying, kept reaching out when she resisted every time. John and Harold had eventually taken the hint and backed off, let Shaw lick her own wounds in peace, but Root wasn’t going to give up and go home.

Not unless she really understood how little was left of Shaw.

“Hey Root,” she said.

“Yes, Sameen?”

“Over in the other room there’s a black duffel bag of stuff that was left in the depot. You wanna bring it over here?”

She hadn’t looked through it herself since she’d gotten back, although she’d managed to enjoy the thought of John (or Finch, maybe?) packing up her black panties and her collection of sex toys. The holy relicts of Saint Sameen, the Martyr.

Root appeared dragging the duffel behind her, wordless and obedient. “Open it,” said Shaw.

Root knelt on the ground and drew the zipper down. Her hands were shaking, Shaw noted indifferently. The duffel was like a time capsule, from another world. They’d been naïve, believing there was a moment of safety for them; Samaritan had been closing in on them even then.

“What were you looking for?” asked Root, reverently pulling back the sides of the bag and then folding her hands, awaiting further instructions.

“Just dump out all that shit,” said Shaw cruelly. “Go ahead, rummage around in there.”

Instead, Root carefully removed each item – a couple wrinkled shirts, Shaw’s workout pants, a pair of black bras. She drew out a stained grey tank top and began to weep, covering her face with her hands. For a beat Shaw couldn't remember why, then recognized it as the one she’d been wearing on their one night together.

She watched Root cry, feeling nothing particular except a vague disquiet. She hadn’t cared that much about her own torture and death.

“I’m sorry,” gasped Root, trying unsuccessfully to stifle her tears. Her nose was pink and running. Shaw reached to the side table for a tissue, mentally patting herself on the back for acting like a real person.

Root took it and wiped her face. “Thanks,” she muttered weakly.

Shaw reached into the duffel herself and dug around the bottom until she found what she’d been looking for – a black leather harness, with heavy buckled straps. Root stopped crying when Shaw tossed in into her lap.

“It’s ... a strap-on,” said Root blankly, picking it up like it might go off in her hands.

“You remember that last night we fucked?”

“I remember everything about that night," whispered Root.

That was more than Shaw could say for herself. She had thought about it a lot in the beginning, but over time it had burned out of her mind along with a lot of other things she tried not to think about anymore. And now it was mostly gone.

"You remember what I said I’d like to do to you?"

Root turned over the toy in her lap. “You said you’d ... ” she trailed off.

“That's right, I said I'd fuck your ass with a strap-on. So, you want to fuck, right? That’s what you’ve been waiting for? Here’s your big chance. Get on all fours and we’ll take care of it.”

She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but Root’s pupils dilated, and she licked her lips. “Are you – are you sure?”

“Seriously?” Shaw snorted. “Ain’t a hardship.”

Root hesitated. “Sameen …”

“No talking. Get your clothes off. Or if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine with me too.”

Root climbed to her feet and stood in front of the mattress. She unzipped the side of her pinstripe pencil skirt and let it slide down her legs. No panties. Go figure.

Shaw felt nothing. Maybe mild impatience.

Root met her eyes and unbuttoned her blouse. She didn’t make a show of taking it off. Her bra was beige and not sexy. Without being told, she reached behind herself – Shaw enjoyed the momentary awkwardness of the position – and unhooked it, leaning forward to free her breasts. She dropped the garment to the floor.

It was a nice contrast; Shaw fully dressed and comfortable, Root bare. Root was probably the toughest woman Shaw had ever met, the surest shot, the coolest under pressure, most fanatically fearless – but now she looked humbled and small.

Still Shaw reached for the bedside lamp, until Root cleared her throat. “I’d prefer to keep the lights on,” she said primly.

Shaw would decidedly rather have it dark. She didn’t really want to watch this happen. She debated whether it was worth a fight.

“I’m going to have to insist,” said Root. “Take it or leave it, but the lights stay on.”

Shaw shrugged. It wasn't going to be pretty, but that wasn't her problem. “Hands and knees,” she said. “I said I wanted your ass. Are you going to give it to me, or not?”

There was a long pause and then Root knelt obediently on the mattress, lifting her hips at the touch of Shaw’s hands.

“Spread nice and wide. Wider. Let me see everything. That’s it, good, that’s what I want.” Shaw parted her cheeks to take a good look at the territory.

Root was pale pink and smooth, as clean as if she'd prepared for this. Not that Shaw was surprised – she probably shat roses anyway.

“You know why I like this?” she hummed, stroking Root’s little pucker and feeling her shudder. So far, so good. She could get through this.

“W-why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” said Shaw. “It’s dirty. But you’re going to do it for me, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Root nodded anyway.

Shaw had a bottle of slick under her pillow, from her last attempt to get herself in the mood. She didn’t feel like messing around with Root’s snatch, not enough to make her wet enough for this. She squeezed the lube on her fingers and didn’t bother to warm it up.

“You ever do this before?” she asked, rolling her fingers around the outside first, making it shiny and wet. It twitched at the pressure.

Root nodded, panting. “Once. With a man. I didn’t like it.”

“You think you’re going to like it this time?”

“I know I will. I’m going to love it.”

Shaw didn’t make any promises. She pushed a finger in, nice and slow so she’d feel every millimeter. Root hissed but she didn't ask to stop. She just braced herself for more.

Shaw began to open her up, nice and slow. She didn't bother to be rough. That wasn't the point. One finger, then two, then three, spread inside her. Root tried to be quiet, but Shaw slapped her buttocks hard until she groaned loud and low, and once the noises started coming out she couldn’t stop them, grunting like an animal.

“Pretty princess likes to be fucked up the ass,” murmured Shaw. “Love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Root. “As long as it’s you, I love it.”

Shaw chose to ignore that, rubbing teasing fingertips over her taint until she squirmed. “That’s it,” said Shaw, wiggling the fingers buried inside. Groans that had sounded ambiguous were definitely approving now. “I think you’re ready for cock now, baby.” The _baby_ had slipped out, not a term of endearment as much as a cold, casual shorthand, like she’d forgotten Root’s name, or it didn’t matter.

“Yes, Sameen,” said Root, squirming on the mattress.

“Face front,” said Shaw. “Eyes forward.” Not like Root hadn't seen everything ten minutes ago.

The strap-on sat in a buckled harness that Shaw stepped into. She had deliberately not sent Root to fetch the double-headed model, although she'd had good times at either end of that. This one buckled comfortably around her hips over her underwear. She wasn't looking to enjoy herself.

She slicked it thoroughly, enjoying feel of the ribbed dildo and the flared head. It didn’t feel anything like a dick; it was cold and plastic and impersonal, just like she wanted.

“I should make you suck this first, but I can’t be bothered,” she mused, rubbing the head of it around Root’s reddened little hole. She made her chase it, made her press back against it, moaning.

“Please,” Root panted. “Fuck me.”

“How does your ass feel?” asked Shaw, still teasing her with the blunt head.

“Loose,” said Root at once. “Wet. Open. Empty. God, Shaw, _please_.”

“Who do you think’s gonna give you what you need,” Shaw mused. “Me or your God?”

“You,” moaned Root. “You, Sameen, you!”

“Beg me,” Shaw whispered.

Shaw had never begged, not once. It didn’t feel like much of a victory now.

“Please,” groaned Root. “Please, put it in me, I want to feel it, I _need it_ , oh please, please …”

Shaw gave it to her, nice and slow. Hard to believe that whole plastic dick could disappear so easily, but Root’s little hole stretched just like a mouth, swallowing all of it.

“You take it so pretty,” Shaw praised, rocking in and out a little, just as a warm up.

Root moaned happily. She had turned her face so her cheek rested on the pillow.

Shaw found that her hands were betraying her, stroking over Root’s flanks, the little divot in her back before her ass flared out. “Fuck,” she muttered, slamming in as hard as she could.

“Oh God,” Root moaned, her hips twisting back to feel it better. “Sameen …”

Shaw tried to pretend this was just an anonymous body she was fucking. She wished to God that Root had let them turn the lights out.

She pushed Root’s face down into the pillow by her hair, muffling her moans. She kept hold of her hips, keeping her buttocks raised.

A few hard thrusts, her hips slapping against plush flesh. Root only spread her legs wider, offering herself up for more. Her hand was down between her legs now, working herself eagerly. Shaw thought about ordering her to stop, but decided it was acceptable.

For one moment she let herself lean further forward, shifting her weight to push up from her calves through her thighs. This close she could smell Root’s sweat, and a hint of coconut. She jerked back at once, letting Root lift her head.

“What am I doing to you, princess?” she asked, picking up speed. “Say it, I want to hear it.”

“You’re fucking my – fucking my ass,” moaned Root, trying to talk as she was jolted by each of Shaw’s thrusts. She was a disheveled mess, her beautiful curls all tangled now. Shaw couldn't resist taking hold of a fistful and tugging, pulling her head back, her chin raised, supplicating.

“Hmm, that’s right,” said Shaw. “Fucking that tight little ass of yours. Why am I doing that, sweetheart?”

“Because – mmm – because, you – love me,” said Root. “Oh god, Sameen – Oh, _oh!”_

She came, moaning, her hips working herself backwards onto Shaw’s dick, trying to pull it in deeper.

Shaw watched her thrown-back head and thought about putting the J-hook of her hand from thumb to forefinger around Root’s throat, and squeezing. Tighter and tighter the way Martine had done to her. Root would let her, probably.

Instead she gave the other woman her moment before drawing back slowly. Root whimpered as the dildo slid out of her, her ass clinging to it like it didn’t want to let go. Shaw enjoyed the wet sound when it finally came free.

Root collapsed on the bed with a groan.

Remembering how rough she'd been, Shaw rested a hand on her back to keep her down. She parted the pale cheeks and examined the little opening clinically. No tearing, no blood.

"I’m fine," said Root sleepily. "Stop worrying."

“Nobody’s worrying,” said Shaw.

Root rolled over onto her back and yawned, demurely covering her mouth with one hand. “Come over here, sweetie."

Shaw didn’t move. “What do you want.”

“I want you to take that thing off and get over here so I can put my mouth on you.”

Shaw backed away.

“I really don't like this martyr-refuses-to-come nonsense,” Root sighed. “Sameen. _Now_ , please.”

Shaw heard the order buried in the request, and somehow found herself walking forward on her knees. She’d learned to follow orders by now.

“Good girl,” said Root, sweet as honey again. “C’mon, baby, don’t be shy.” She lifted up the jersey from the bottom, letting Shaw stay covered. Her little hands tugged at the straps of the harness, pulling it free from Shaw’s hips and letting it fall to be lost in the rumpled sheets.

Shaw felt nauseous, restless and fidgety like a spooked horse. She should get out of here. She should find something to drink. She needed a weapon. She didn’t know how, but she knew that kindness would kill her.

"Easy, now." Root eased her underwear down, stroking her bare hip.

Shaw was still frozen, not sure what to do, when Root reached for her, slid an arm around her waist and another one behind her head, tugging her in.

“I missed you so much,” said Root, quietly, like maybe she wasn’t supposed to hear. Then they were kissing – Shaw was _being kissed_ , more accurately, drowning in coconut.

Root’s mouth was soft and soothing, like Shaw was a wound she was kissing. She had succeeded at untying Shaw's ponytail when she wasn’t paying attention, and was now eagerly combing her fingers through the long hair.

For a long time there was nothing but the soft hum of Root’s appreciation and the wet sound of their lips meeting. Shaw shuddered and tried to tune it out. When Root’s tongue tried to nudge past her teeth, she broke away and sat back.

Root let her go, shifting to lie back on the same pillow that Shaw had pushed her face into – still damp from her cries. “Alright, then,” she said, motioning impatiently until Shaw got within range for her to take her hips and tug her forward. “C’mere, beautiful. I want to kiss you here, too.”

Her palms smoothed over Shaw’s thighs as she guided her up, straddling her shoulders. "Just relax for me, now."

Shaw didn't understand why she was dragging this out. She'd already said there was nothing left inside her but cinder. There was no reason for Root to hang around.

“Perfect,” whispered Root, reaching up to pressed a gentle, sucking kisses to the inside of Shaw's thigh, close to the crease of her body. Shaw shivered in spite of herself.

Hard to believe she was still sensitive anywhere.

Shaw noted absently that Root’s neck would hurt, stretching like that; but the hands on her hips kept her just where she was. A minute later she realized it was so that Root could keep talking when she wanted to, which just made her want to sit down _more._

"Look at me, Sameen. Don’t close your eyes. Here I am. Look."

Shaw looked down. Root was watching her closely, her soulful eyes wounded and wet. How the hell did anybody look so earnest in the middle of muffdiving?

"I see you," said Shaw gruffly.

"Good. Keep watching." Root nuzzled back in eagerly between her legs.

Shaw tried to let herself relax, tried to remember what it felt like. The humid air against her cunt from Root’s breath. Root's tongue, soft against her clit. She didn't push too hard. It was good.

"You're fine, Sameen." _Kiss._ "Nobody can get in here." _Kiss._ "It's just us.”

It wasn’t true, thought Shaw, as a warm tongue slid between her folds. If she’d learned anything from the past few years, it was that invisible eyes were always watching – every phone call, every street corner, every letter that you typed on a keyboard. It wasn't safe here, it wasn't safe anywhere, not even inside her own _head_ -

"Stop," said Shaw - and Root did. She kept her hands wrapped around Shaw's hips, cradling them like a second harness, but she stopped.

"You're alright," she whispered. "You're okay. Shh, You're okay."

Shaw really fucking resented being shushed - almost more than being tortured - but she made herself unclench her fists and take a few breaths. Her joints were aching again. She’d need another pill eventually. She was fine.

“Good.” Root resumed her work.

Shaw reached her hands down her shirt to her own breasts, although she couldn't feel them now; both her fingertips and her nipples were mostly numb. Still, she cupped the familiar weight, letting her calloused thumbs brush over the scars.

"A little higher," she muttered, her hips flexing instinctively, trying to put Root's mouth where she needed it. "There. Harder. That's it. _There!_ "

It was clear that patience was a virtue for hackers, because Root didn't seem to be in any hurry, lavishing attention on the spot that sent frissons of pleasure sparking up Shaw's veins. This must be the kind of persistence that allowed someone to hack even Harold's cyberdefenses.

“Let go, Sameen,” Root hummed, latching onto Shaw’s swollen clit and sucking gently.

Shaw hissed, trying to fight it, afraid to show any reaction. She didn’t have a lot of secrets left – the inside of her head hadn’t been private in a long time – and she didn’t enjoy the sensation of one more of them falling away. But there was electricity building up in her extremities; it came rushing up from her thighs, up over her flanks to her chest and her sore shoulders; it washed over her, it swept over her head.

Root sat up to slide her fingers into the soft, unscarred skin of Shaw's cunt, working through her own saliva and the copious slick.

"They'll never take you away from me," she whispered into the curve of Shaw’s belly. Her fingers were still moving slowly, keeping her caught in the orgasm she would have sworn she wasn't capable of. "Ever. Do you hear me? I swear to God, or anybody who's listening."

Shaw’s pulse was ringing in her ears, the deep living thrum pounding in her temples; she cried out and convulsed, as if each of her nerve endings were electrified (and she would know).

_"I will burn this city to ash before I let them take you again."_

Jesus Christ, thought Shaw - damned if she didn’t believe this crazy bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> I have always wanted to write a femslash fic (seriously, with all the talented female writers in fandom, why is it always male characters that get to have all the fun?). Thank you for reading!


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